


let my mind reset

by delimeful



Series: sit back and watch the world go by [6]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Gen, Humans are space orcs, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Original Character(s), POV Outsider, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26475700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delimeful/pseuds/delimeful
Summary: Roman finds himself in deep trouble relating to his past, which means the resident Human is the last person he wants around.Unfortunately, the resident Human didn't seem to get the memo.-Act Two of WIBAR
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil & Creativity | Roman & Logic | Logan & Morality | Patton, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Series: sit back and watch the world go by [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541683
Comments: 98
Kudos: 514





	1. Chapter 1

When Elliott had agreed to help their father out, they’d been expecting some sort of dad-kid bonding trip, something outdoorsy, a few suncycles long if they were particularly unlucky.

Instead, they’d been promptly herded onto a spacecraft and shuttled off to the nearest _moon_. Dad had stumbled through a half-hearted explanation about ‘family ties’ and ‘old debts’, eventually pulling the ‘your brother did this, you can too’ card. 

And then, after warning them that there would be dire consequences if they messed this up, he _left_ them there. Not just to mope about the artificial, too-crowded cityscape, oh no.

Apparently, despite the fact that they had just barely reached the age of imbibement, they’d been signed up for a job as a busboy at The Dainty Whistle, the seediest bar on this side of the moon. And that was saying something.

They weren’t an idiot. They’d seen the way locals wearing that familiar emblazoned insignia with pride leered at them. Watched as their dad, the proudest person they knew, kept his own gaze averted as the bartender with too-many eyes called him by a nickname that made him go pink around the gills with humiliation.

Yeah, they knew exactly why they were here working for nothing but tips and dirty looks.

That didn’t mean that it didn’t suck.

So, even after all the lectures and frill-flapping about turning an obstacle into an opportunity, they let themself hate the job, and the boss, and the customers who were definitely dealing Dren under the table. As long as they kept their deeply snarky thoughts to themselves, they wouldn’t get in trouble, and getting through the mooncycles felt a little less like eternity.

Once they adjusted, it was _almost_ bearable.

They should have known it wasn’t going to last.

\---

Honestly, it was probably all their fault.

They’d been the first one to notice the stranger sweep into the bar, all warm hues and hard plating. Really, an alien that tall and bulky was difficult to miss, but they also hadn’t believed their own eyes for a long moment.

Still, it wasn’t like it was hard to identify a Crowned Crav’on. The scaled tail, the claws, the titular ‘crown’ of spikes-- all of it set him apart from smaller residents of that planet. 

“I’m looking for bounties in the area,” he’d said to them in well-practiced Common, hands signing along seemingly out of habit. “Pay doesn’t matter, just looking for people to aid. Can you point me in the right direction?” 

Like an idiot, they’d simply stared, mind blank and gills extended near as far as they could go in alarm.

The stranger must have been used to getting stared at, because he didn’t even blink at Elliott’s social blunder, just waited patiently. (That... wasn’t surprising when they thought about it, only sad.)

Then, a slick hand on their shoulder. Their boss. “Why don’t you go freshen up, Inkspot? I’ll speak with this patron.”

The bartender had set a drink in front of the stranger with an oil spill smile. They’d been shuttled off to the back, and a sick feeling of realization had blossomed in their lungs like gillrot.

Abruptly, they wished they’d done literally anything else in those long moments they’d spent face-to-face with the stranger. Time wasted _gawking_ , when they should have pointed to the stamp on the back of the sign, gestured to the posters on the walls, told him to get out and stay out. Whatever it took, so long as it would warn him of what kind of place this was.

They should have warned him how unsafe it was for him here.

By the time they finished sanitizing the pile of dishware that had been shoved on them and returned to the main serving room, the Crav’on was gone.

The only signs he’d ever been there were the shattered remains of his glass, a few new claw marks in the worn wooden bar, and the plate armor he’d been wearing, strung up on display in the backroom. 

“He traded it in,” their boss said with a pleased chur when he caught them looking. “Seemed like he wouldn’t be needing it, where he was going.”

He laughed after them when they skittered away, shame and regret bubbling in their throat.

They hadn’t even managed to ask his name.

\---

“Roman of the Crav’n, did you see him here?”

Elliott balked as an outdated comm was held up in front of them, a still image of a stranger on the small display. The sound that came out of their mouth was mostly nonsensical warble, and the alien in front of them had the grace to pull back and give them some space.

“Apologies,” the stranger said, and Elliott shook their head to forgive the intrusion, still disoriented. The electrical waves from comms made their head hurt something fierce.

Blue, multiple limbs, patterned skin… They couldn’t quite identify the species of the stranger, embarrassingly enough. It was probably something totally obvious in hindsight, but they weren’t exactly a spacefarer themself. This awful job was the third time they’d ever been off-planet.

“Sorry,” they muttered, their external gills still wavering back and forth in an effort to dispel the tension in their skull. “What did you need from me? Uh, sir?”

“I’m looking for someone whose comm tracker last placed him at this bar,” the unfamiliar alien said, and to his credit seemed to have realized the source of their struggle, as he kept the comm further away while presenting it this time. “My friend and crewmate, Roman.”

Elliott’s breath stuttered as they took in the picture, a clear shot of the Crowned Crav’on from half a mooncycle ago. _Roman_. Someone had come for him, after all. 

They felt a little ashamed that they’d assumed otherwise. They should know better than anyone that blood family wasn’t all one had.

Wait.

Oh no, someone had come for him. Oh _no._

“Um.” Elliott felt as though every eye on the street was watching them, waiting to report back on the traitorous little part-timer from the debted family. They floundered in open air for a moment, like they were young and just learning how to switch from under to above water again.

“Yes?” the alien prompted. “Have you seen him or not?”

“I, uh,” they pressed their webbed fingers together weakly, “Maybe? There are, um, a lot of customers here, you know.”

The stranger gave them the unimpressed look that comment deserved. This was a Crowned Crav’on. Not the type that was easy to miss.

It hit them like a blunt object to the spine-- the armor!

“I wonder if you would be interested in some of the, um.” _Don’t say illegal don’t say illegal don’t say illegal._ “The _exotic_ items we have available in the back?”

The alien’s expression shuttered off even more than it already had been.

“Yes, I’ve seen your establishment’s back room and all the likely misbegotten goods in it. I’m not looking to make a sale, I’m looking for a companion of mine!” His voice grew sharper and sharper as he continued, fists clenched.

“Sorry,” Elliott offered meekly on automatic, their second lids blinking rapidly as though to clear their vision. He’d been back there? He would have recognized the armor if it had been there, so... it must have been sold.

Their heart sank. There wouldn’t be any traces of who had sold it, or to whom. If this stranger tried to accuse the Dainty Whistle of trafficking without any hard evidence, he’d end up made a mockery of at best. Disappeared along with his friend at worst. Elliott along with him. _Elliott’s family_ along with him. Even their sister wasn’t far enough to be out of _her_ influence.

“It’s fine,” the stranger was saying, having recomposed himself. “Just-- even a glimpse could be useful. Do you remember seeing him at all?”

Elliott thought back to the Crav’on, the way he’d said “people to aid,” like it was a phrase of habit. He was probably already lost. If this stranger was his friend, he probably wouldn’t want him to get hurt.

If they pretended to believe that hard enough, maybe this wouldn’t feel so selfish.

“I’m sorry,” they said, tasting bitterness on the back of their tongue, “I haven’t seen him.”

\---

The stranger came back over and over, undaunted by his failures, sometimes accompanied by an Ampen that literally glowed. As if two law-abiding ‘farers clearly out of their depths didn’t stand out enough in a place like this.

The two of them were persistent and clever, but nobody was stupid or noble enough to forsake themself for a couple of strangers, one of which was likely already dead.

Not even Elliott.

\---

It was three mooncycles from their last day when the escape pod crashed into one of the landing fields, adding a new crater.

They didn’t know that was it at the time, of course. All they heard from their early shift stocking the bar was a distant, ground-shaking crash.

When they saw the wreckage later, they were surprised that _any_ creature, no matter how durable, could make it out of that crumpled pod alive.

At the time, though, they had barely even glanced up from their daily drudgery until strangers started rushing in and out of the ramshackle building, in varying states of excitement or terror.

Once they started paying attention, the buzz in the air came with a whispered name. _Human_.

Elliott had just enough time to freak out before the door slammed open, and one of the largest bipedal aliens he’d ever seen stumbled through.

The Human had a dark red smear of blood trickling from it’s forehead, but the distinctive whites of its eyes were visible as it scanned the room.

Their stingers flared out defensively without their conscious input, but the movement was either small enough to go unnoticed, or completely overshadowed by all the other fear displays in the room. Elliott resisted the urge to duck under a table.

The Human staggered another step into the room, it’s gaze still searching. Whatever it was looking for, it didn’t seem to find. It’s posture went hunched, either uncertain or defensive.

“... Help?” it finally asked in shaky but clear Common, voice less deep and growl-y than they’d anticipated. 

The bar seemed to go dead silent.

“Hello,” the Human tried again, and swayed unsteadily as though it was injured. “Please? Help?”

It devolved into a string of a glottal, unfamiliar language, presumably one native to the deathworld it came from. It seemed to grow more distressed. “Get home, please, help!”

It must have been freshly smuggled offplanet, Elliott realized, and escaped like all the horror stories. They didn’t even want to imagine what the remains of that ship looked like.

“Hey, easy there, big guy,” their boss stepped out from behind the bar, drawing all eyes to him. He must have figured the same thing Elliott had, though he clearly had more ambitions than them in mind.

(At the moment, their only ambition was to never be in the same room as a Human ever again.)

Their boss held tridactyl hands held up in an unfamiliar gesture that the Human seemed to recognize, voice low and soothing. “I’ll help you. Help, yeah? Help? You’re only getting like two words of this, aren’t you? Big stupid bastard.”

The room, if possible, went even quieter at the gamble. The Human looked at him blankly for a long moment, and Elliott felt like they were going to be sick with the tension boiling in their stomachs.

Then, it took a small step closer. “Help?”

Their boss closed his anterior eyes in relief, and beckoned the Human over. “Yes, help! Come on, let’s get some drink in you. _Inkspot._ ”

Elliott’s gills went as dark as their namesake, and it took a shove from behind from a coworker to get them moving to the bar on shaky feet. They hoped the Human couldn’t see the way their tail was wrapped tightly against their leg in terror, fins trembling.

By now, they’d been working there long enough to make an array of basic drinks without making too big a fool of themself. They’d never regretted not messing up so badly.

After they’d managed to only spill half the ingredients over the edge of the mug in the process of stirring, they turned to see that the more sensible patrons had ducked out of the bar while the Human was facing away from them. Elliott felt immense envy.

“Put in one of the little bottles from the safe,” their boss called back, still making low, calming nonsense talk at the Human.

This, they’d never done before. It took a few false starts to find their voice. “The… the whole bottle?”

“ _Yes, the whole bottle._ Hurry it up.” They suspected the only thing keeping his voice from being more sharp was the twitchy Deathworlder right next to him. “Don’t want to keep our friend here waiting.”

The Human said something in its home language again, and their boss soothed it, and Elliott poured enough diluted ethyl into the drink to put them and their entire family into a permanent coma.

They weren’t sure which potential outcome they disliked more: the one where they poisoned a Human to actual death, or the one where it wasn’t _enough_ poison and the Human realized and murdered _them_ to actual death.

Either way, they were certainly feeling like an expendable employee at the moment.

They turned and set the drink on the bar, vaguely in front of the Human but maybe not close enough that it would totally pin the poisoning on them?

Their boss gestured magnanimously to them and then the drink before sliding it closer to the Human. So much for that.

The Human only briefly looked up at them before taking the drink with a sort of confused wariness. The glass was comically undersized in its hand. Elliott tamped down the hysterical humor they were beginning to feel about the situation.

After a moment of silent contemplation, the Human threw back the entire drink like it was nothing. Its face pinched for a moment, but that was the only sign that it’d noticed the extensive drugging of its drink at all.

Very noticeably, the Human didn’t keel over. There weren’t even any drooping eyelids or slow movements. It didn’t have a tail or tentacles or any other responsive parts, so it was a bit difficult to read, but for all intents and appearances, it hadn’t been affected at all.

Some of the tension returned to their boss’s shoulders.

“It’s alright, Boss,” someone lurking at the entrance called over, “I made the call, and the retrieval unit just landed. They’ll be here soon.”

Was the Human’s breathing coming faster, or was that just their imagination?

“Thank the Whisper,” their boss replied, a few of his eyes still keeping track of the Human. “This season has had quite the eventful harvest, hasn’t it? Didn’t expect two of the missus’ favorites to walk right into the bar itself, one right after the other.” 

Elliott was the only one facing the Human directly. They were the only one who noticed when its eyes flickered over to their boss darkly, the way its fists clenched.

“Lucky us.”

There was nothing lucky about this.

When the retrieval unit finally reached the bar, they moved silently through the space, flanking the Human stealthily. Elliott stood frozen, their side gills sealed up so tight they could hardly breathe.

Still as hunted prey, they watched the way it inhaled through clenched teeth, the way its fingers twitched, the way its eyes flickered to the side, all-too-aware of the beings stalking it.

Despite all this, it couldn’t seem to move in time to prevent one of the unit from slapping a series of tranq patches along its neck. It cried out, stood, staggered back into a stool and swung at anyone that got too close, but this time around, the drugs in its system were clearly designed for Humans.

Before long, it folded over on itself and collapsed to the floor, limp. It took four members of the retrieval unit to haul the Human’s unconscious body out of the bar, and just one to hand their boss a creditchip that probably contained more money than they could even visualize.

Just like that, it was over, and business hours were continuing as usual.

Elliott ran through the motions numbly, mind still playing the encounter on loop.

Nobody else had noticed the way the Human had started fighting back a beat late, its movements a bit stilted. Nobody else had noticed that it seemed to understand more than it let on. Nobody else would believe them if they mentioned it. They hardly believed it themself.

After all, in what universe would a Human _try_ to get itself captured?


	2. Chapter 2

Roman wasn’t sure how long he’d been stuck in the holding cell.

His first idea had been to mark the cycles on one wall, to gather his bearings by the sky’s map, but there were no window ports, no view of the universe outside at all. Not even the greatest Crav’n navigator could’ve worked without a single star to go off.

He knew he was on a vessel, at least. Unlike his crewmates, Roman was more than familiar with the difference between artigrav and genuine gravity. They didn’t really understand it when he attempted to describe the sensation, but then, they didn’t seem to get headaches from low-quality antigrav systems, either.

Gods above, his crew. He hoped they were safe, hoped that at least that Human was good for _something_ and would keep them from venturing onto the same moon that Roman had been so underhandedly abducted from.

No, with any luck, they wouldn’t be able to get involved. The way he’d been abducted-- drugged and dragged off-- it reeked of black market smuggling. Whatever they’d nabbed him for, it was probably his species they cared about, not his crew. He tried not to think too hard about what that meant for him, but...

There wasn’t much to do _but_ think, in a cell like this. He had enough space to take three strides, from one wall of bars to the next, and no more. Nutrient gel packs were dropped through the slot of the back wall with alarming irregularity. The neighboring cells were empty, and everything was alway eerily, lifelessly silent.

Roman wasn’t sure how long he’d been stuck in the holding cell, but it was long enough that by the time he heard a distant cacophony, he was instantly alert, scales prickling in anticipation.

The noises grew closer and closer, and a piercing, glowing alarm lit the connecting corridor moments before the door to the cell block was being slammed into. Roman backed up, trying to figure out what sort of internal invasion he’d gotten caught up in.

On the third blow, the door crumpled inward like cheap plating, and an undeniably Human figure stood in the empty frame, panting. Familiar eyes immediately locked onto his cell.

“ _Virgil?”_ Roman squawked in alarm. He took a daring step toward the bars, barely believing what his own mind was perceiving. Was this another dream?

“Roman! You’re alive.” Virgil’s shoulders slumped dismissively, as though he wasn’t the one who had apparently _boarded an enemy ship_ to find him. Despite all the questions he had, Roman felt immediately and irrevocably offended.

“No need to look so disappointed,” he growled, making the Human’s face scrunch up unpleasantly.

“What? No-- Never mind. We can chat when you’re out of there.” Virgil hurried down the hall to his cell, gripping the lockbox as though he could pull it apart. “Where’s the key?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Roman hissed, attempting to glance over his shoulder to the open hall the Human had come from. It was empty, for the moment. “I haven’t even seen another _person_ in this place, let alone the vital instrument to my escape!”

Virgil pulled back, freakish eyes strangely wide. “Seriously? You’ve been alone this whole time?”

There was something oddly strained about his voice, but Roman didn’t exactly have the luxury of attempting to interpret whatever the Human was implying at the moment. He felt his tail thumping the floor anxiously. “ _Can we please focus?_ ”

“Right.” Virgil shook his head sharply, releasing his deathgrip on the lockbox. “Right, uh, maybe I can li-- _ghk._ ”

Abruptly, the deathworlder seemed to freeze up, jaw clenched, limbs rigid, chest still. To Roman’s horror, he spotted a trickle of red spill from the corner of his lips. “ _Virgil!_ ”

As though the spell had been broken, the Human staggered, and then fell forward, knocking clumsily into the bars and gripping them for support as his breathing started up again, twice as ragged as before. The overhead alarm went utterly quiet.

Now that Virgil had half-collapsed, Roman could see past him, to the door frame.

There was another Human standing there at the threshold.

They were tall, with pallid skin and rust-colored hair cropped shorter than Virgil’s, wearing well-fitted clothes, and with a finger on the trigger of a black, boxy weapon that Roman couldn’t identify. Thin, barely-visible wires connected it to Virgil. _Virgil,_ who had taken four paralyzers at once and managed to keep fighting, but was barely stirring after one hit from this.

He opened his mouth to speak, not knowing what would come out, and his eyes caught on the emblem sewn onto the Human’s outfit.

He knew it.

It felt like his every scale was on end, unfiltered terror coursing through him.

“Found it,” the Human said, completely composed. Their free hand was raised up to an ear, pressing against the communicator there. “Ended up at the Crowned’s block instead of an exit. Should I take it to the reinforced cells?”

There was a pause as whoever was on the other end replied, and the Human glanced to Roman with nothing but ice in their gaze. “And the Crowned? … Of course. Right away.”

Clicking the comm off, they stepped forwards and yanked the wires free, ignoring the way Roman flinched. They poked at Virgil’s leg with the tip of their shoe, and then easily hauled their fellow Human to his feet. Virgil’s eyes went wide at the sight of them, but only for a moment. He immediately bared his teeth, gripped the other right back and dug his fingers in. “Let _go_.”

“Vicious, are we?” They muttered, unconcerned. “You can’t win, so don’t even try. I’ll be nice and warn you in advance: anything you do to me, I’ll double back onto your Crowned friend over there.”

At the gesture to Roman, Virgil went still, his hold loosening. There was something off about that, Roman thought, but his mind seemed to be working through a thick fog, everything hazy and slow. The unfamiliar Human only nodded, as though they’d confirmed something, and pulled open the cell next to Roman’s before half-shoving Virgil towards it. “In.”

Still unsteady, Virgil stumbled heavily as the door was swiftly shut and locked behind him. The Human turned away, hand already returned to their communicator.

“I need two reinforced cells prepared for our lady. Clean up whatever’s left in them.”

They stepped past the shattered door, out of the room, and were gone. Roman felt his frozen posture thaw slightly, but there was no sense of relief. His pulse continued to race.

A cell over, Virgil leaned heavily against the bars, a sheen of sweat across his skin.

“That rescue attempt,” he said, voice rough, “went less than good.”

Ire rose in Roman hot and fast, like boiling water. It was as good a distraction as any. He turned to Virgil sharply, arms spread aggressively. “What were you _thinking?_ ”

“What?” Virgil asked, going still with surprise.

“You shouldn’t have come here. We’re both trapped here now.” He grabbed his own arm tightly, claws digging in. “This isn’t some low-grade smuggling ring you can slaughter your way out of!”

“Roman, I--,” Hurt, and then frustration flashed across Virgil’s face. “Come on, I came to _help_ you--!”

“Oh, what a _joke._ ” Roman snarled, his breath coming faster. “Help me? All you’ve done is gotten us both stuck in an even tighter trap.”

“I wasn’t trying to--”

“Oh, yes, I’ll believe that, coming from a Human,” Roman scoffed, ears flattening back aggressively. His head pounded in rhythm with the painful buzz of the artigrav.

Virgil stood up a little stiffer, eyebrows drawing in. Roman felt an odd vindication. The Human had certainly never made _this_ harsh expression around Patton. “Me being Human doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

Roman’s laugh caught oddly in his throat, coming out bitter and shattered. “It has _everything_ to do with this. You think it’s a coincidence that this is the first Human that we’ve run into since you? That they abducted me for no reason?”

Virgil stared at him, glancing at the open doorway the other Human had vanished through. “You know this place.” It wasn’t a question.

“I know these _Humans,_ ” Roman corrected sharply, trying to keep the chill from his bones as reality set in. It was harder, now that the heat of his anger was fading out.

“How?” Virgil asked, apparently doing his best to stoke those dying embers. He glanced at the door to his cell, assessing. “If you know something that could help--”

“Nothing can help us!” Roman snapped, breaths harsh and gasping. The walls were drawing closer, pressing down on him. “These Humans took _everything_ from me! Everyone I ever knew, gone in a single night! I’m the _only one left_!”

There was no sudden ringing silence, no perceptible shift in the universe now that he’d admitted the truth. There was just him, and the Human, still in cells, still _doomed_.

“I’ve lived-- all this time for-- for _them_ , and Humans,” his lungs were beginning to ache, “Humans can’t even-- won’t let me do _that_ right.”

Virgil moved closer to the bars, slow and uncertain. “Hey. Roman, _hey,_ easy. Roman, you have to breathe. Breathe, okay?”

His voice was lower, softer. Coaxing, like he was luring a small animal out of hiding. It was like watching a Human pretending to be an ally, like watching a Human using the voices of other victims, like watching a Human turn and slaughter his tribe-- his friends-- his family.

The past and present seemed to overlap, an insignia burnt into the Human’s clothes where it hadn’t been before. Roman snarled at him, but the noise came out choked and small, like he was a kit again.

Virgil-- his mother’s murderer-- _the Human_ was still talking, the words echoing and rolling over each other until the noise was indecipherable. There was an undertone of urgency to its voice as Roman backed further away-- pushed himself deeper into the hidden crevice-- hid away like a coward.

When he finally blacked out, it was almost a blessing.

\---

When he woke, his cell was different.

It was narrower, and composed entirely of thick, interlacing bars, no solid back wall to lean on. No food slot, either. The space was lit from above, and in the cell next to his, he could see Virgil pacing like a caged animal. The rest of the room was too dark to make out.

The moment he shifted to sit up, the Human’s eyes were on him. “Roman!”

Roman steeled himself, but Virgil was oddly muted, and he stayed firmly on the side of his cell furthest away. Even that meager distance wasn’t far enough to keep Roman’s pulse steady-- or enough to hide the bruised swelling on one side of Virgil’s face. “What happened to you?” he asked, pressing a palm to his own headache. The non-Human one.

Virgil’s hand drifted up to the injury absently. “Made some trouble when they were moving us.”

Roman stared at the injury for a moment longer. If this was how brutal these Humans were to one of their own, he didn’t even want to think about how they’d treat him.

“I called their bluff,” Virgil continued, as though Logan had connected their minds. “Whoever they answer to explicitly instructed them not to let you get hurt.”

“Not yet, at least,” Roman replied darkly.

Virgil just nodded, face tight with stress. “Not yet. That gives us time.” He paused, working his jaw for a moment. “If... if they’ve been keeping you here for this long, maybe we could find other survivors—“

“They’re dead, Virgil,” Roman cut him off, voice flat and toneless. His anger had burned out. “The bodies— I was the only one left to perform the wake afterwards.”

Virgil went quiet. Roman felt his mind slipping back to thick smoke and burnt scales, and shook himself harshly, one loud rattle of his scales to try and ground himself. “How long was I out?”

“Not long,” Virgil replied, and then paused before Roman could demand a less vague answer. He pressed a finger to his mouth. “Hang on. Footsteps.”

There were a few beats of silence, and then a door slid open with a pneumatic hiss. For a moment, the hallway beyond was enough to cast a dim light over the rest of the room. Roman could make out rows of these narrow cells, enough to hold more Humans than he ever wanted to see again.

It was the same Human from before, and Roman was surprised to find that their lip was split, though perhaps he shouldn’t have been. It was vindicating to see that Virgil had given as good as he’d gotten.

Any semblance of calm fled Roman’s body as the Human walked into the circle of light shining down over their cells, right up to the meager barrier between them. Human limbs were thin enough to reach through the bars, and the thought was enough to make him shift back, flaring up aggressively with every threat display he had.

“Don’t worry, _your highness,_ ” the Human said, their eyes rolling strangely in their skull. “I’m not here for you, not this time.”

Almost against his will, Roman’s gaze flickered to Virgil, who was standing stock-still in the middle of his cell, chest rising and falling only fractionally. The Human popped open the cell casually, and then waved when Virgil didn’t move.

“Come on, come on,” they chided, “you have a doctor's appointment to keep.”

Like the words were an igniting spark, Virgil took two running steps forward and launched himself at them.

It was barely a fight. The Human didn’t even hesitate, smoothly catching Virgil by the upper arms and _twisting_ until he went down with a cry of pain Roman had never heard from him before. Even half-pinned to the floor, he continued to writhe and twist, a guttural hiss escaping him.

“ _Relax,_ ” they ordered impatiently, shaking him once, “they know how to properly sedate here. Anesthetic and everything. You won’t feel a thing.”

Contrary to their attempt, Virgil’s struggles doubled in intensity, thrashing with a strength that seemed to surpass anything he’d displayed in front of Roman or the others before. “No! _No!_ ”

The Human swore offhandedly, grabbing something from a pocket. “Damn. Thought that would work, with reports on how you came in.”

In one simple movement, they wrapped their hand around Virgil’s neck, and waited as his struggles became heavy and leaden.

 _They were killing him,_ a tiny, panicked voice in Roman’s mind screamed _._

He didn’t realize he had crossed the short length of his cell until he was already gripping the bars, rattling against them. “Stop! Let him go!”

The Human glanced up, eyebrows raising slightly. When they lifted their hand, the distinctive white square of a tranq patch was left behind, pressed firmly into the skin.

Not dead. Roman felt a shocking amount of relief, his scales drooping with the force of it. He just… didn’t want to see another person murdered by a Human, that was all.

The Human slung Virgil over a shoulder, recapturing his attention.

Right. Not dead. Just drugged into unconsciousness, about to be dragged off to who-knew-what.

“Wait!” Roman reached out, barely able to fit his wrist past the bars. There was white noise rising in his ears. “Look, it’s me you want, right? To-- To finish what you started, tie up the loose ends. That Human doesn’t have anything to do with this. So don’t do anything-- he’s not involved.”

“Oh, now that’s funny.” The Human laughed, the sound caustic, and leaned in. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, your highness. It doesn’t matter if he’s involved or not. Out here, the only thing a rogue Human needs to do to be targeted is exist.” They paused, mock-thoughtful. “Kind of like you, actually.”

Roman felt his entire being prickle with white-hot fury, a low growl rumbling in his chest. To say that his people deserved to be _slaughtered_ for just existing… Human cruelty really knew no bounds.

“Speaking of,” the Human continued languidly, “I'll be back soon to show you to your own _appointment_.”

Roman felt his insides turn to ice.

“The boss has finally called for you.”


End file.
